


Through the Broken Frames of Space and Time

by lawboy



Category: Video Blogging RPF, Who Killed Markiplier? (Web Series)
Genre: Damien is a lovesick fool, Dark is lowkey touch-starved, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, One Shot, Pining, Romantic Fluff, how arent there ANY darkiplier tags???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:01:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27038371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lawboy/pseuds/lawboy
Summary: While tracking Mark through the mess he's made of spacetime, Dark and Wilford stumble into a place-- a time, memories, feelings --that Dark would rather forget. It seems, though, that Damien's not so willing to leave the past behind.
Relationships: Damien | The Mayor/Wilford Warfstache | William J. Barnum | The Colonel, Darkiplier/Wilford Warfstache
Comments: 6
Kudos: 49





	Through the Broken Frames of Space and Time

Dark and Wilford  stepped out of a tear in reality, ears ringing and mouth s foul with the sensation of physical static. Dark sealed the rift behind them, darting a glance about in case Mark was lying in wait, before dropping his shoulders and cracking his neck. They were alone.

The room was an image of a time and place long left behind-- a memory, motes of dust hanging still in the afternoon beams of a sun Dark knew would never set. It was eerily quiet, their footsteps a cacophony on the polished hardwood floors. The scent of cleaning products and drying begonias made  him sick. He didn’t want to be here.

“Well, isn’t this a blast from the past!”

He glanced back at Wilford, who was examining a phonograph.

“Haven’t seen one of these since… oh, the memory goes.” Fiddling with the needle, Wilford grinned. “What say we have a dance before we continue, old friend? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you-”

“We’re here on business.” Dark cut in. “Let’s just get this done so we can leave.”

Will cocked an eyebrow, but said nothing. Hands in his pockets, he spun around to examine the place. Sighing, Dark squeezed his eyes shut, drawing on Celine’s powers to detect Mark’s… for lack of a better word, ectoplasm. The residual traces of ante-dimensional  _something_ he left behind.

He’d preserved this point in time, but for what?

Feeling out the room with his aura, Dark found the walls, the desk, the bookcases. A map formed in his  head , unfurling its dimensions, dull red on black. And then he saw it.

“The desk drawers.”

Will mumbled an “Oh,” and strode across the room, doing what  Dark couldn’t while he was tangled in his own mind. Grimacing, Dark pried himself from Celine’s icy fingers, forcing her back to sleep.

“There’s some papers here.” Will commented.

He jumped, eyes flashing open and panic catching his chest. A sucker punch to the stomach-- why was he aching? Was this a trap? Were they in danger?

Wilford glanced up from the letter in his hand. “ You a lright, Damien?”

“Don’t call me that.” The words fell limp, ringing hollow in a voice that was softer, lighter. _Damien._ He saw himself tinge blue.

Wilford watched him, hunter’s eyes still sharp as ever after all these years. A withheld smile twitched his upper lip, just slightly.

“Do you know this place?”

He did-- and the realisation struck with a painful nostalgia, a desperation for a  world and body he would never be in again.  _He knew._ Knew every book on th e se shelves, every room down these halls, every tiny detail of the view he’d watched out these windows. The cityscape, the wide road, the oak trees, the bumbling cars  skirting around busy  shoppers and schoolboys playing chicken. Cane clutched tightly to his chest, he spun to stare outside-- now it was nothing, a blank endless white like a plain of snow.

“This is my home.”

Wilford stepped up silently beside him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. He leant into the  embrace , Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. It’d been so long  since he’d been held . His skin burnt like fire where they touched.

“I think these are yours.” Wilford’s voice was gentle, the low tone he saved for comforting those who were lost. He held out the letter to Dark, pressing his face into the crook of his neck when he took it. The message was clear: he wouldn’t look.

Glowing bluer than he’d ever been, Dark read the letter to himself.

_Dearest William,_

_I hope this letter doesn’t find you well, for I hope it never finds you at all. I imagine I’ll destroy these pages before the last strokes of ink dry, rather than hold onto something so awful._

_In truth, I must empty my mind of the wicked desires that have plagued me since we grew into men, and I found myself atypical in how I loved. Will, I yearn to hold you in my arms. I yearn to see you safe out of the war, and each time you write me, I cry with relief that you are still alive to write at all. I yearn to kiss you. Day by day, the thought of you grows stronger in my mind, and by the time you come home, I’m sure I won’t be able to resist embracing you so affectionately that I might be mistaken for my sister._ _William,_ _I hope you marry her. If only so that I have a reason to erase these_ _fantasies_ _from my mind._

_Rest assured that I’ll never act on_ _my_ _thoughts nor mention them, because I know they’d find you ill. I love you, darling._

_Yours_ _,_

_Damien._

Dark folded the letter hastily, pressing it to his breast. A storm swelled in the core of his being, nausea and vertigo taking the breath from his lungs. He burnt. Refracting cyan blazed off the surface of his form, forming halos and catching in his eyes-- when his aura engulfed his surroundings, for once it didn’t drain it of colour. Everything was blue. The world was sharper than crystal.

“Not one for the scrapbook?” Will ribbed, lips quirking, and it took a second for Dark to realise that he’d crumpled the letter in his fist.

“This was a wild goose chase.”

The letter burnt into smoke-- it was irrelevant. As fictitious to who they were now as any of the tales Mark spun. The mayor and the colonel died apart-- he didn’t need a keepsake of emotions he’d never have to feel again.

His hand met Will’s hip, and they shifted towards each other. A slow dance, if there were music. Will’s fingers traced his cheek, jaw, and his eyes glowed. Awestruck. Dark leant heavily into the touch. Tilted his head so his lips met his palm, and revelled in the gasp he drew.  Everything was blue, and pink, and through the broken frames of space and time he heard  a melody . Piano keys he almost felt, in other fingers. In a golden room where William laughed and touched his shoulder and  he knew he’d never feel more alive.

Dark leant down, but it was Damien who kissed him.

**Author's Note:**

> This is like,, the second time I've written fluff. Please leave a comment if you enjoyed!!


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